Francesca had seen him every night throughout the week and knew his life was difficult whether he was aware of it or not. The phone rang constantly with demands for his time. His cell went off as much or more than the house phone. No one left him in peace. More than once she’d been tempted to give his neck a massage while he impatiently—and dropping F-bombs liberally—listened to pleas for his help, most of which he answered positively.

“You can just forget all about seeing his bedroom, Joanna.” She glanced up at the clock, hoping it was time to go, knowing she had to change the subject. Joanna often was like a wrecking ball when she wanted something. “You look good in that dress. Red is definitely your color. And, Mario, that suit is amazing.”

Mario’s hand went to his tie a little self-consciously. “I can’t be the only one not looking sharp tonight. Look at my girl.” He sounded proud, his eyes on Joanna.

Joanna forgot all about pouting and beamed as she slipped her hand onto his arm. “You look very handsome. Thanks for coming with me tonight. I think it will be fun.”

The elevator pinged and the doors opened. Emmanuelle emerged and Francesca’s breath caught in her throat. Emmanuelle was the most beautiful woman Francesca had ever laid eyes on. Although short, no supermodel could hold a candle to her. She was everything an Italian beauty was reputed to be and more.

She wore a short black dress that clung to every curve. The front was a camisole that dropped into a little flirty skirt. The laces going up the front were tight over her rib cage and up under her breasts, but there was a generous opening showing plenty of cleavage. She looked hot. Gorgeous. Trendy. Sophisticated. Instantly Francesca felt as if she needed to check her own clothes again.

“Francesca. You look . . . beautiful.” Emmanuelle sounded sincere and her smile was warm, enveloping all of them. “Joanna, Mario, how nice to see you both again.”

She walked with complete confidence in her four-inch heels, coming straight toward Francesca without slowing down. She hugged Francesca tightly and then kissed her on both cheeks.

“Forgive me for not being with you when my cousins came to talk to you. I would have been with my brothers to protect you, if only so you’d have another woman present, but I had to keep the parents occupied.” She squeezed Francesca’s arm. “I know it was difficult for you—the boys told me. I want you to know how much I respect and admire you. Thank you for worrying about my brother and for making him so happy.”

Whoa. That was the last thing Francesca expected from Stefano’s sister. She made it sound as if Francesca really did belong to Stefano. That it was a done deal and somehow she was totally accepted into their family. Things moved very fast around the Ferraro siblings. Francesca felt uneasy, a fraud even. She wasn’t as certain as they were that her relationship with Stefano had progressed to the point of his entire family claiming her.

She wanted a family. She loved that the Ferraros were so tight-knit, but she barely knew them. She didn’t even really know what Stefano did for a living. There was just a little bit of fear when she was around them all. Power clung to them. They wore their wealth so easily, like a second skin. More than that, they wore a cloak of pure danger. When any of the Ferraros walked into a room, there was a stunned silence—a collective gasp from any other occupants of the room.

“Are you ready for a night out?” Emmanuelle turned to include Joanna and Mario in her query.

Joanna was staring at Francesca, wide-eyed, a grin on her face. She turned toward Emmanuelle immediately. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

“Rigina and Rosina are downstairs in the limo.” Emmanuelle laughed, her voice low and melodious. “I figured we’d better have a driver if we’re all going to party tonight.” She slipped her arm through Francesca’s companionably. “Has Stefano seen that dress?”

Francesca smoothed one hand down the dress, wondering why both Joanna and Emmanuelle had asked that. She nodded, color stealing into her face at having to make the confession. “He brought the dress to me.”

Emmanuelle’s smile widened. “But he hasn’t actually seen you in the dress, has he?” Her eyes met Joanna’s and they both burst out laughing.

Francesca wasn’t certain what the joke was. “Is something wrong with the way I look?” She couldn’t keep the anxiety out of her voice. She wanted to look good for Stefano or she wouldn’t have accepted the dress from him. It cost more than her weekly wages and it had been a little disconcerting to have him go out and buy her the club dress. She didn’t know why that seemed worse than pretending to believe he or his brother was responsible for losing her clothes and replacing them with much more expensive ones.